In which A Kitten Named Mowgli Taught Me About Trust and Love

When it comes to trusting and loving, men are like dogs. women are like cats

It was a rainy July evening when I found Mowgli.

I was on my way back from work, tired in that quiet, end-of-day way, when the rain hung in the air, pouring most dramatically, just persistently. Near the gate, half-soaked and entirely unimpressed by the weather and how a delivery guy had treated it, was a scrawny kitten. Too small to be fearless, too defiant to be afraid. The kitten looked at me like it was asking me to avenge the other human for this crime. While I save that encounter for another day, for now, you should be aware that the kitten is now part of our permanent clan.

We didn’t know the gender then.
What we noticed instead was the energy.

Mowgli was relentless. Leaping off furniture, chasing invisible enemies, knocking things over as if gravity were merely a suggestion. A feline dynamo, unpredictable, curious, and just wild. One look at that confidence and, without much thought, I assumed this kitten was a male, and named him Mowgli wild, unruly, impossible to contain.

A few weeks later, at a routine vet visit, the truth emerged.

Mowgli was a girl.

My immediate reaction, which utterly surprised me in retrospect, was “Wow, I thought, she has such boyish energy.”

Almost immediately, I caught myself.

Why had I equated boldness with masculinity? Why did chaos, curiosity, and confidence feel inherently male in my head? That small, passing thought lingered longer than it should have. It hit a nerve, not just about gender, but about how casually we assign meaning to behaviour, especially in love.

That’s when an old, almost throwaway line resurfaced in my mind:
Men are like dogs. Women are like cats.

I used to roll my eyes at this comparison. That was mostly because of how I’d heard it used. In Hindi movies, “kutte” is said with the kind of disgust only perfected by Dharmendra as the ultimate insult. Women became cats: moody, mysterious, sitting on compound walls, judging the world. Put like that, of course, I wanted nothing to do with the metaphor.

The problem wasn’t really the comparison. It was how carelessly it was handled. Completely missing the point that both are different personalities. I started seeing the dogs I actually know and began recognising their personality traits, the loyal street dogs outside my building, always present, always hopeful, always showing up. Having lived with Melody for 13 years now, I knew long ago that cats are not cold, as most people misinterpret, but they’re rather cautious, precise with affection, choosing their moments; it began to make sense.

Seen that way, the comparison was oddly familiar.

The difference wasn’t about man, woman, dog, or cat, but how we trust and how we love.

Men, I’ve noticed, often love out loud. They show up, check in, and constantly seek clarity. When something feels off, they want to address it immediately! Sometimes their affection is visible through their confusion. Their need for reassurance isn’t insecurity; it’s seeking connection.

I, on the other hand, love more like a cat.

I observe before I approach. I need time to feel my way into closeness. Too many questions at once make me retreat, not because I don’t care, but because I’m still listening. When I go quiet, it’s rarely punishment. It’s processing.

While neither is wrong,

Dogs want to be loved openly.
Cats want to be understood quietly.

There have been instances whereI’ve been misunderstood for my silence, just as I’ve misunderstood urgency for pressure. I’ve mistaken consistency for boring routine, while my need for space has been read as distance. More than once, trust didn’t break, and love didn’t actually fail; it just got lost in translation.

Dogs think love is presence.
Cats think love is attunement.

Dogs feel safe in routine.
Cats feel safe in emotional accuracy.

What I did realise was that the relationships that stayed with me over the years are actually the ones that felt real, and weren’t perfect. The moments that stayed with me, the ones that felt like real connection, were when we tried to learn each other’s language instead of defending our own.

When someone didn’t rush me, but waited.
When I didn’t retreat into my shell and pretend to disappear, but explained.
When reassurance and space stopped competing and started coexisting.

These days, watching Mowgli making space for herself in the house, claiming her territory from Melody, being bold yet affectionate, independent, and sometimes entirely uninterested in fitting a category. I smile at how right we were about her energy, but so wrong to root it in gender.

She didn’t need to be softer to be feminine.
She didn’t need to be louder to be strong.

I am hopeful that trust and love work the same way.
It’s about recognising the one in front of you, trusting them and choosing them, again and again, and agreeing to meet them where they are.